


Wishing Well

by sandwastesinthevoidofmychest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magic, Pining, Plotbunnies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24688405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest/pseuds/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest
Summary: Inspired by Paialovespie's twitter prompt:Greg makes throws a coin in a fountain in the park and makes a wish. As he looks up, he makes eye contact across the fountain with Mycroft Holmes, who was out for a walk.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade
Comments: 37
Kudos: 217
Collections: JustMystradeThoughts Plot Bunny Adoptions





	Wishing Well

**Author's Note:**

> You can see Paia's plot bunny here on twitter: [[x]](https://twitter.com/PaiaLovesPie/status/1266017751178625024)
> 
> Many thanks for letting me try this out! <3

The afternoon is overcast and Greg glances at the sky in apprehension, hoping it won’t rain before he gets home. 

After finishing a pile of paperwork and officially closing a case that’s been hanging over his team for weeks, he’s taken the afternoon off. 

Instead of relief or freedom, Greg just feels tired to the bone. 

He makes his way to St. James’s Park with a celebratory coffee from his favourite café warm in his hand. He would claim he’s out for fresh air, but well, he’s in London after all. 

Sighing to himself, weary and lonely he spots an unoccupied bench and makes a beeline for it. 

Sitting down, he lets out a sigh; he’s trying to blame the exhaustion on his mood, but the loneliness sits heavy in his chest where it seems to be making itself a comfortable home. 

Greg brings the coffee cup to his mouth, taking a warm gulp and feels some of the tension disappear from his body. 

He looks again at the dreary sky, blue-grey eyes come to his mind; they’d be greyer today under this light, stormy. 

Unfathomable.

The familiar tug of longing takes his breath away.

He watches the fountain in front of him, people walking by. People running, walking dogs, people in suits who look far too busy to even breathe. 

Another reminder. Another ache. 

Greg admonishes himself, he’s become too much of a miserable bastard lately. 

Sally wholly agrees, so it must be true. 

He tries to blame it on tiredness, because he seems to be weighed down by a permanent exhaustion; no matter what, it still sticks to him and shows no sign of disappearing. 

He’s fifty-two next week, he’s still too young to take early retirement. He hopes he has a few years left in him, three more at the least to reach minimum pension age, but retirement crosses his mind at least once a week these days. 

Greg knows that his main problem is the loneliness. 

The flame of attraction that’s been unrequited for too many years to acknowledge, that still burns just as strong as it always has. 

If anything, it burns stronger now.

His monthly meetings with Mycroft had slowly increased in frequency. Conversation no longer revolves around Sherlock. Now hardly a week goes by without meeting the man for a coffee. 

Greg has tried not to get his hopes up, but he’s failed miserably. 

After all, why else would they be meeting so often if there wasn’t _something_ between them? 

His mind kindly supplies that it’s called friendship. 

But today, it marks two weeks since their last meeting. 

Mycroft is abroad, and Greg has been working non-stop. 

Until today. 

He takes another sip of coffee, he should be enjoying his early clock-off. Should be celebrating catching a serial killer. Be glad that it’s case closed. 

Hopelessness encroaches, more vocal nowadays with the increase in crime-rates. With the cruelty that he’s forced to witness every single day. With the general lack of respect for life. 

His department still holds the highest solve rate in the Yard, but that doesn’t stop the crimes from happening in the first place. 

His train of thought is interrupted by the excited yelps of three children as they run to stand by the fountain, bouncing in excitement. 

The woman that accompanies them has black hair tied high in a bun, she’s wearing a long black dress and around her shoulder is…Greg looks closer, a cloak? 

As she approaches the children, Greg can see that her cloak is a black velvet. 

He thinks she would not look amiss with a witch’s hat upon her head. 

She’s holding the leash of an old white Westie, with whom she walks slower to help them to keep up with her. 

“Have you all thought about your wishes?” She asks, an amused smile on her red lips. 

“Yes! Anna, I wa-“ 

“No.” The woman puts up a hand stopping the little boy in his tracks. “Your wishes are secret, only between you and the water.” 

The three children nod in understanding. 

Greg can’t help but tilt his head, watching them in amusement. 

It’s then that the woman looks directly at him, eyes narrowing. 

Greg feels the blush rise on his cheeks, “Sorry-“ He begins but she approaches him. 

“I saw you in the newspaper. Thank you for solving the O’Hara case two months ago.” She says softly. “I knew her. We went to University together.” 

Greg’s at a loss for words. 

She holds out the leash of the Westie. “Could you look after Arthur for a few minutes for me? I’m trying to teach the kids about Wishing Wells, need free hands.” 

Greg takes the leash wordlessly, as though she’s put him under a spell. 

“Wonderful.” She picks up the dog and sits him on the bench by Greg’s side. “Stay.” She murmurs before turning away and Greg’s not really sure if she’s talking to the dog or him. 

Greg glances down at the dog in confusion, seeing it look up at him with wide eyes. 

“Just you and I, Arthur.” Greg murmurs, gently petting him. Arthur moves closer to him and rests his head on Greg’s lap, panting and clearly expecting to be pet. 

Greg complies, how could he not? 

Greg’s too far away to hear what the woman is telling the children, but from the way the three of them look up to her, completely mesmerised Greg wishes he could. 

The woman talks with her hands, enthusiasm clear from her gestures, even without words. 

The children, Greg guesses, must be around five. Two girls and one boy. They’re all dressed identically in uniforms from the private school that’s about five minutes away from them. 

They have similar features, but Greg isn’t sure if they’re related. He doubts this woman is their mother; presumably a nanny of some form. 

Greg pets Arthur as he watches the scene unfold before him, unable to stop the amused smile from spreading across his face. He feels the gesture and acknowledges it’s probably the first time he’s smiled in days. 

“And what do we need to make our wish?” The woman’s voice is louder now, and Greg briefly wonders if it’s for his benefit. 

“A coin!” The three children answer in a chorus. 

The woman, Anna, looks upon the children with pride. 

She rummages in her cloak and Greg raises a brow, it has pockets? 

Then with grand ceremony, she bestows each child with a coin, and one of them jumps on the spot, holding up the coin. “It’s so pretty, Anna!” 

From where he is, Greg can’t see what’s different about the coins, and his curiosity is alight. 

“I made them last night for you all. They’re especially magical. Now, are we ready to make our wishes?” 

The answering shrieks of excitement from the children confirm they are ready. 

Arthur, head still resting on Greg’s lap huffs quietly, taking Greg’s attention from the scene at the fountain. 

“What’s wrong, old man?” Greg asks before he pauses. 

Not only is he witnessing three children wish on a fountain, but he’s now talking to the dog that had been briefly entrusted to him by a complete stranger in a cloak. 

It’s a weird Thursday. 

He briefly imagines telling his story to Mycroft over a cup of coffee and can’t help but smile at the idea that Mycroft would regard him with total disbelief. 

Maybe Greg might even be graced with a rare smile. 

His heart flutters at the idea. The fact that Mycroft’s smiles were becoming a more common occurrence over their café meetings has never failed to give him hope. 

He takes out his phone and snaps a quick picture of the dog who’s stares directly into the camera, eyes wise and knowing. 

“Want to show you to a friend, he won’t believe me otherwise.” 

Christ, he’s going bonkers. He badly needs a sleep, that’s all. 

He continues to pet Arthur, who pants happily. 

Greg would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel better than when he first arrived at the park. 

Cheers of happiness snap Greg out of his thoughts and when he looks up, he sees Anna approaching him. The children sit on the edge of the fountain watching her. 

“Thank you for taking care of Arthur. I have something for you.” 

Greg stands, helping Arthur to the ground. His feels the heat in his cheeks and shakes his head. “There’s no need.”

“Sometimes,” She begins, pushing her glasses back up her nose, “We all need a wish.” 

She presents Greg with a coin taken from within her cloak and holds her hand out waiting for him to take it. 

Blinking in confusion, Greg holds out his hand, noticing that it shakes slightly. 

She deposits the coin in his palm and he looks down at it in confusion. 

It’s a 20 pence coin, but it’s been painted a metallic blue. In elegant gold script ‘one wish’ is painted, with a silver star painted underneath. He turns the coin in his hand and it’s identical on the back. He looks up to Anna in confusion and amazement. 

“There is one simple rule.” She adds matter-of-factly. 

“Oh?” Greg murmurs weakly.

“One must never wish for someone’s love.”

Greg stares at her wide eyed. 

“A person’s love is precious and it must not be stolen from them without their knowledge. If you are to be the recipient of another’s love, it must be genuine. I’ve witnessed far too many people wish for love despite being warned against it and it never ends happily.” 

Greg nods in understanding. “Sounds fair.” 

A pleased smile crosses her face. “I had hoped that you would understand. Thank you. May your wish come through. Now, I must take the children home. Come here, Arthur.” 

Greg holds out the dog’s leash to the woman, struck speechless. 

“Goodbye.” She smiles now, and Greg can’t help but smile back. 

“Thank you.” He whispers as she turns away. 

Glancing over her shoulder at him, she nods in acknowledgement. “Use it wisely.”

Greg watches as the woman and the three children walk away. Then he looks down at the coin that weighs heavy in his palm. He glances at the fountain in contemplation. 

He walks back to the bench and sits back down. 

He thinks of Mycroft. 

Blue-grey eyes, his genuine smiles, smooth voice. 

Thinks about all the times that he’s wished he’d had the courage to kiss him.

Greg realises with a deep certainty that his wish is going to be used on Mycroft. 

But not for love. 

If Greg ever happened to be lucky enough to become the recipient of Mycroft’s love then it would be genuine and true. 

They both would be certain that their feelings are honest, and more importantly: real, tangible. 

Greg stares at the coin in his hand before taking a deep breath and standing, approaching the fountain with purpose. 

Standing at the edge of the fountain, he can see the distinct shape of coins through the water. 

It seems far more people make wishes here than Greg would ever have considered. 

The coin is solid and warm in his hand. 

He closes his eyes and readies himself to make his wish. 

Tossing the coin, he holds his breath. 

_I wish for more time with Mycroft._

The wish itself makes sense. Perhaps they might see each other for definite each week. 

Perhaps their schedules could align more often.

Perhaps...

Greg finally breathes again, opening his eyes.

Mycroft Holmes stands across from him wide-eyed, confusion clear upon his face as he glances around him.

When he notices Greg and his eyes settle on Greg’s face, Greg’s heart rejoices in the fact that Mycroft immediately seems to relax a little. 

“Mycroft!” Greg can’t help the smile on his face as he approaches the other man. 

Mycroft is wearing his coat and leather gloves, but is missing his umbrella.

Greg can see the hint of confusion still in Mycroft’s eyes. 

“Gregory.” Mycroft says slowly, watching Greg as though trying to convince himself that Greg is really there in front of him. 

“I thought you were in Brussels until tomorrow.” 

Mycroft glances around them, brows furrowing and Greg feels a hint of worry. 

_Did I mess up the wish? Is he hurt?_

“I...” Mycroft begins, then trails off. 

Greg bites his lip, anxiety filling him.“Mycroft?” 

Mycroft looks at him and frowns. “I apologise, Gregory. I don’t seem to be with it today.”

Greg smiles nervously, “We all have those days.”

Mycroft nods, “Perhaps a coffee will remedy the situation?”

“If anything will, it’s got to be coffee.” Greg tries to joke.

“Along with your company.” Mycroft adds, and Greg watches as Mycroft’s face reddens with blush. 

Quite frankly, it’s adorable. 

They walk side by side on their way to their usual haunt. 

“So, how are you?” Greg asks, worry still present about how exactly Mycroft found himself in St James’s Park seconds after Greg wished to see him, much to Mycroft’s obvious bewilderment.

Mycroft appears to think his answer through. “Weary.” His voice is quiet, “I find I become disenchanted with my work every now and then. It’s very much the case at the moment.”

Greg feels his heart ache for the other man. “Is there anything I could do to help?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows how stupid a question it is, but he’s unprepared for Mycroft’s soft laughter. 

“If you could murder some key political figures, perhaps.” 

Greg’s bark of laughter brings some light to Mycroft’s eyes and Greg nudges Mycroft with his shoulder. “Only if you make sure I don’t serve time.” 

A glorious smile tugs at Mycroft’s lips. “Anything for you, certainly.” 

Greg feels like his heart is in his throat, and easily sees the look of mortification cross Mycroft’s face as he clearly realises that he’s said the words out loud.

Daringly, Greg squeezes Mycroft’s hand. “Likewise, Mycroft.” 

Their usual table by the window is free, so Mycroft goes to claim it while Greg orders for them. 

Waiting for their drinks, Greg begins to worry again. 

Mycroft seems perfectly healthy, if not a bit tired. 

Surely it would be noticeable if he had been injured by the wish and his sudden appearance in the park? 

Mycroft’s on his mobile when Greg returns to their table with a tray of their drinks. 

He’s gone for a cappuccino, and he’s ordered Mycroft a pot of Earl Grey. He discovered a few months ago that this café sells Mycroft’s favourite blend and Greg uses every chance he gets to make sure Mycroft enjoys it regularly. 

Greg grins at Mycroft as he unloads the tray. He puts two caramel slices down beside their drinks. 

When Greg sits down after getting rid of the tray, Mycroft seems to be near the end of his call. 

“No, I fear it doesn’t quite make sense.” He’s frowning and Greg worries immediately that it’s something to do with Mycroft’s sudden appearance. 

Bloody hell, Anthea could still be in Belgium until tomorrow wondering how on earth her boss is back in London when he’d probably been with her minutes beforehand. 

Who knows what panic a situation like that could cause. Greg feels ill at the very thought. 

As Greg’s thoughts begin to spiral downward into situations of international emergencies, his mind immediately pauses its descent at the unexpected sound of Mycroft’s laughter. 

Greg raises his head and ends up meeting Mycroft’s eyes. 

Greg forgets how to breathe. Mycroft’s eyes are shining, he’s smiling in amusement as he listens to whoever is on the other end of the line. 

Even more, he shakes his head and rolls his eyes as though he’s sharing a private joke with Greg and it hits Greg like a punch in the chest when he realises that he wants _this._

He wants private jokes, shining eyes, smiles of amusement, of fondness. 

Coffee dates, meeting whenever either of them have a spare minute. 

Inside stories, intimate knowledge of every inch of skin on the other man’s body. 

He wants to go home to Mycroft. 

Have a home that is theirs, a bed they share, a love they blossom with. 

Once Greg’s body demands he breathe again, Mycroft is staring at him with what could be shock. 

People have often commented on how Greg’s easy to read like a book, and he feels his heart rate spike as he wonders how clearly his thoughts had been on his face, and had Mycroft read them correctly? 

“I shall speak to you tomorrow. Goodbye, Anthea.” Mycroft says softly, he places his phone face down on the table and looks to Greg, eyes searching. 

The loaded silence between the two of them is broken by Mycroft. 

“I have just been informed that I have the day off tomorrow.” 

Greg grins, despite his heart thudding in his ears. “Oh?” 

Mycroft hums in affirmation as he begins to prepare his tea. 

Greg takes a sip of his coffee, watching Mycroft’s practised movements. 

Without looking up from stirring his tea, Mycroft asks if Greg is free tomorrow, and suddenly his heart has them both walking off into the sunset.   
Surely that’s too much to ask?

Greg nods, “Yeah, first proper day off in a while. We closed that case today.” 

Mycroft nods, glancing up at Greg, cheeks flushed. “Perhaps you would like to celebrate, then?” 

Greg’s heart soars. 

“Let me get a few hours of decent sleep and I’m all yours.” Greg grins, hope alight in his veins. 

Mycroft’s hand covers his on the table and Greg holds his breath, looking to Mycroft with wide eyes. Mycroft’s blush is adorable and Mycroft watches him carefully.

He seems pleased when Greg doesn’t draw his hand away, and instead squeezes Mycroft’s back. 

“Shall we…” Nervousness is clear in Mycroft’s voice as he forces himself to carry on. “…Consider it as a date?”

Greg sees what must be his own ecstatic grin mirrored on Mycroft’s face, any hints of anxiety disappearing from the other man’s face. 

It’s glorious and Greg intends to never forget this moment. 

“I would love that.” Greg whispers sincerely, intertwining their fingers. “It’s more than I ever could wish for.” He confesses. 

Mycroft tilts his head, a gentle smile on his lips, eyes full of warmth only for Greg. “Then perhaps you wishes are coming true.” 

_More time with Mycroft_ , his own words echo in his mind.

He can’t help but stare in wonder at the other man. “Yeah, Myc.” Greg murmurs fondness clear in his voice, “I think they are.” 

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: @lostallsenseof1  
> tumblr: @lostallsenseofcontrol


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